


Fashion

by FreckledSaint



Series: Personal Hans Week [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, My own lore babey, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSaint/pseuds/FreckledSaint
Summary: The fashion of the past, Hans knew, was much brighter. Older portraits were a riot of color and his own grandparents loved the style of the shells.
Series: Personal Hans Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838899
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Fashion

Hans reckoned his grandfather had been alive for a millennium as he went through the ancient wardrobe. He had come to Solvborg Palace a few months ago to help his grandparents with their affairs. Usually his cousins and uncle – their only son – took care of them but, as they were needed in the city, Hans had been left in their stead.

And as he was the de facto housekeeper, the young man decided to see what sort of treasures were hidden in old drawers and chiffoniers. He found all sorts of wonderful things: old-fashioned trinkets, wigs in every shade and size, and lots and lots of luxurious fabrics.

The fashion of the past, he knew, was much brighter. Older portraits were a riot of color and his own grandparents loved the style of the shells. Theirs was a comfortable, cheerful, regal home that was lucky to have owners to match.

Its mistress was the Landgravine Maria Hammersmed, née Randrup. She was a peaceful soul that enjoyed gardening, sewing, and everything else which delighted grandmothers everywhere. Though both of her daughters were married off and her son was in the city, Lady Maria did not suffer from the consequential solitude. “I’ve been prepared for widowhood since I was a little girl,” she told her youngest grandson once. “We’ve had so many pox outbreaks in my youth that I thought it’d be wiser to brace myself for the worst.”

Her husband, on the other hand, was not as wise. He was, in fact, the exact opposite of a peaceful soul. Landgrave Johannes Hammersmed was, is, and will forever be (by his wife’s admission) an attention-seeking man that spent too much money on apparel in his youth, arguably committed treason, and still somehow managed to place a crown atop his elder daughter’s head.

Luckily for this fashion-forward, (possibly) treason-committing, queen-making lord, his grandson and namesake adored him to bits and absolved him of everything.

Of course, it helped that their personalities complimented one another. Those who had the good fortune of befriending Johannes ‘Hans’ Westergaard will eventually learn that the prince needed praise and attention the same way a flower needed water and sunshine. His desire to improve himself was often driven by the wish to be in the limelight and thankfully Old Lord Hammersmed was quick to applaud him.

Grandfather and grandson were terribly fond of each other and were – as the old man never failed to mention – like two drops of water. According to the former, if anyone wished to see him in his youth then they ought to glance at his daughter’s thirteenth son. “And if you wish to see my Johannes in his twilight years,” added Lord Hammersmed, “then a single glimpse at me will suffice!”

After the statement had been uttered hundreds of time by the elderly landgrave, Hans thought dressing up in eighteenth-century clothes would make for a marvelous surprise. What his grandfather believed to be a young man’s curiosity for the past was, in truth, a scavenger hunt for the required materials.

Hans always carried his loot back to his room late in the evening. He had learned his lesson when trying to carry things in the morning – his grandmother caught him red-handed that Tuesday. Not only did she catch him carrying a bundle of silk, but she also saw him wearing a particularly insane wig with dark curls falling past his shoulders.

Lady Maria blinked at the chaos sprawled around the man, then she laughed upon connecting the dots. Helping her grandson place everything in wick baskets, the old woman said, “You will have a hard time working on anything, I say. Your grandfather will be suspicious should he sense a minute change in your behavior towards him and tailoring can be quite the humdrum.”

“I shall work at night then,” said Hans, tossing the wig aside.

“And sacrifice your sleep?” Her countenance was one of concern. “Do you honestly plan to make yourself a whole new outfit in accordance to old fashion? What if I give you your grandfather’s old clothes that you can alter?”

As someone who had spent the last week and a half searching and failing to find an already-made suit, those words came as a surprise to Hans. “Do you have any left? I assumed they were given to Uncle Ivar and his children.”

She grasped his hands in her own and smiled. “Never assume, my dear. Especially when it comes to such important matters as one’s appearance.” The young man helped her rise from the floor and she stood tall and proud at full height. “Landgrave Hammersmed has always been a pompous sneak. He has hidden his old breeches and coats like a Viking hides his hoard of gold; only I have access to them. Go to your room, dearest. I shall bring them to you.”

***

The task might have been easier if he had accepted his grandmother’s aid in altering the suit. After all, she spent the last thirty or so years making clothes for her twenty-four grandchildren. Lady Hammersmed was keen on helping her grandson, too! And the only reason Hans could not accept her help was because he needed her to entertain the recipient of the surprise.

While his task was tedious and occasionally an absolute pain, it was made enjoyable by the number of wonders that had accumulated in his room. Silks and linens laid on his bed laid on his bed, metallic threads glimmered by the window, colorful ribbons hung from wherever they could, and jewel-encrusted buckles shimmered on the carpet like a field of gems.

It was not even the repetitive nature of the task that bothered Hans so much as the loneliness of it all. He knew how to work with fabrics; one of the unexpected benefits of being a younger son in a family no daughters was that his mother – exasperated by not having any little girls to whom she could teach feminine skills – taught him how to stitch and sew. However, he normally mended his clothes in the company of his brothers or parents; which meant that although he sewed on buttons with the ease of a matron, his want of conversation left him sour.

As Hans busied himself with re-lining a battered waistcoat, his grandfather grew increasingly more suspicious of him. Lady Maria brushed off her husband’s misgivings with a kiss on the brow. “He is just tired, my lord. Our Hans helps us entertain guests and I would not be shocked if he wishes to have some moments of peace after playing the violin for the Stenbergs.”

“That’s it!” cried Lord Hammersmed, slapping his knee. He grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her closer to him. “Johannes is in love!”

Lady Maria’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Hm? In love with whom?”

“Why, with that pretty young mademoiselle: Frida Stenberg! Oh, my Johannes has fine tastes. Lady Frida is such a good girl, and rich. And her bloodline is respectable!” The old man laughed heartily; his eyes creased with delight. “Mademoiselle Stenberg has also been blessed with wide hips, like a guitar. If Hans is anything like his father then that girl will be a mother to a score of children.”

“And why,” began the lady, “do you think Krissie’s boy fancies Miss Stenberg?”

“Affairs of the heart are often nonsensical,” answered her husband immediately. “Just recall how they behaved the last time the Stenbergs came to dine with us! Miss Stenberg smiled and had a twinkle in her eyes, which look twice as big thanks to those black lashes of hers, while Johannes grinned and admired her performance at the pianoforte.”

That was the end of that. Lord Hammersmed was convinced that his grandson had fallen in love with the pretty noble girl and his wife could do nothing to persuade him otherwise.

“The boy is in love!” said the old man for the hundredth time that week. “I bet the reason he retires to bed early nowadays is to meet up with Mademoiselle Stenberg.”

“I’m sure he does,” agreed his wife, knowing full well that said boy spent the last evening searching for a misplaced thimble.

The old woman smiled sweetly, stood up, and prepared tea to the tune of her lord’s jests about youthful love affairs. Lady Maria had heard her grandson shuffle about in the hallway earlier and resolved on seeing his progress tonight. It had been a week since she last checked up on him and she wanted to know when she can expect the return of her needles.

***

“I remember your grandfather,” sighed Lady Maria. She sat at the foot of the featherbed and helped Hans with adjusting the coat. “Tall, handsome as a lion, and he had such shapely legs. His mane of hair gleamed golden like a sun-struck coin.”

“Wait.” Hans looked up from his work. “I thought Grandfather Johannes had black hair.”

“I’m talking about your other grandfather,” clarified the lady, chuckling. The needle in her hand pierced the fabric and she pulled the thread high in the air. “King Albert, blessed be his memory, was terribly handsome. Queen Josefine struck herself a goldmine, bless her.”

“And you?”

“And I found myself an expensive imp,” she said, smiling and securing a button in place.

A month had passed since he began his little project and Hans was very pleased with his work. The white stockings looked great on his legs; the forest-green silk breeches were lined with glazed cotton and so was the matching frock coat; and his grandmother had the butler polish the mottled shoe buckles so that the silver shone and burned in the sun.

Lady Maria helped him into the suit – the fashion of her day was trickier than today’s, she would say. The copious amounts of frills around the cuffs and neck elicited a laughter from Hans. Odd as it was, he loved how prettily they fluttered when he reached for his linen cravat. His grandmother then grabbed the cream waistcoat and admired how well he restored the embroidery of sequins and metallic threads.

The final step was the most painful: the wig. Hans was the second of thirteen sons to inherit his father’s copper hair and was loathe to hide it underneath a dusty old wig. He went so far as to ask the eldest servant employed by his grandfather to show him how to improve it and not even the smell of orange blossoms could entice him to wear it.

He stared at it, at its white curls set to the side, at the ponytail dangling from the back, and grimaced. Lord Hammersmed, as mentioned earlier, had spent handsomely on his wardrobe as a young man and the wig held by his grandson was one of his finest: it had been made from naturally blond hair. Hans pursed his lips, wondering what soul had chopped their platinum locks in the seventeen-seventies.

The color was similar to his lord grandfather’s hair now, which in his youth was allegedly so black it was blue, and the man of the nineteenth century unhappily donned the quintessential symbol of the past.

No sooner had he done this than his grandmother began to laugh and clap her hands in glee. The young man turned round on the balls of his feet and nearly suffered a stroke upon seeing the reflection in the mirror. “Oh no!” he cried and placed a steadying hand on his laughing grandmother. “Oh, _no_! I look like him! _Exactly_ like him!”

An uncontrollable laugh seized the pair and they doubled over themselves, wheezing. Hans was in shock by how much he resembled his grandfather and Lady Maria, wiping the wet glint building in her eyes, recalled her happy youth and how foolishly bold her peacock of a bridegroom was during their courtship.

Sure enough, the impassioned episode did not go unnoticed by the resident old man, who shakily hurried to his grandchild in case he was afflicted by hysteria; love had a tendency to afflict youthful minds in strange ways and the elderly gentleman still believed that Hans was head over heels in love with Lord Stenberg’s pretty daughter. As he was somewhat of a love expert – a man, he claimed, who bedded a dozen pretty girls and then secured himself the best of women for a wife was bound to know a thing or two – Lord Hammersmed could not help but grin at the prospect of guiding his darling grandson through the murky waters of affection.

His dreams of playing matchmaker came crashing down as he opened the door and saw his dear wife burying her face in his own youthful reflection.

“Grandfather!” cried the reflection, startling the old man back into reality. He fluttered his eyelids and his brows knitted in confusion while Hans and Lady Maria laughed merrily. Lord Hammersmed stared at them and a smile bloomed on his face at the realization that his boy resembled him so much that it was as if he was looking into a mirror.

“Ah! I remember that outfit!” Lord Hammersmed moved to sit at the chair near the window. Along the way, he pulled Hans down and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I wore it when your royal grandfather sent me a mildly threatening letter.”

Hans wiped the wetness round his eyes and breathed heavily. “Mildly threatening?” he asked curiously.

“You know,” said Lady Maria, whose wrinkles deepened as she smiled, “the usual – stop supporting the sugar riots, stop hosting rendezvous between rebellious lords, stop sending me portraits of your daughters.”

“His Majesty occasionally behaved like the dowries I provided your mother and aunt were not worthy of kings, of emperors,” grumbled Lord Hammersmed.

“Grandfather Albert must have played hard to get,” comforted Hans. Having, more or less, calmed down, he stood up straight and spun around. “Do you not think I look exceedingly handsome? The wig is a pity but –”

“The wig is the best part of the outfit!” Lord Hammersmed slammed his cane against the parquetry. “I will have you know that I commissioned a Parisian wig-master to make it for me. The hair has not been bleached and, dare I say, it looks great on you so put it back on this instant.”

“I will not,” said the boy. He ran a hand through the masses of red hair that most certainly did not come from the Hammersmeds, stretched his arms, and flaunted the silver buckle on his shoes. “Did you just wear these every day? Were your ankles not cold?”

“Workaday shoe buckles are made of steel; silver is for special occasions.” Lord Hammersmed tucked a stray hair behind his ear. “And our ankles were just fine, my boy. I’m honestly more concerned that the youth these days cover themselves up from top to toe and one cannot see their handsome silhouette properly. Trousers are not fashionable. They are baggy.”

Hans folded his arms and a cross look marred his face. “Modern trousers are not baggy and modern silhouettes are perfectly clear.”

Lord Hammersmed chortled. “Whatever you say, my dear. But know that your grandfather was the best-dressed man in his day and may this outfit serve as an example of good taste to you.” He turned towards his wife. “Look at him; now do you remember why you married me?”

“Is it not because of your personality?” asked Hans.

“That and the undeniable truth that I was and still am so handsome,” snickered Lord Hammersmed. His wife chuckled beside him and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I bet your grandmother only bothered to speak to me because of my extremely shapely legs and spectacular dancing skills. That is why noblemen still ought to wear breeches.”

“It would have been hard to ignore you,” said Lady Maria, “considering you were the king’s unfavorite for a time.”

Lord Hammersmed waved her off, choosing to instead focus on how handsomely and correctly his Hans was dressed. He smoothed down the frock coat and said, “You should dress like this more often. Perhaps always.”

“Absolutely not,” said Hans. “Maybe for special occasions, Grandfather, but I cannot abandon my ‘baggy’ trousers.”

The old man mulled over this for a bit, and then with a dramatically exasperated sigh said, “Fine. I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hans' grandfather is A Lot and I like him so much✨


End file.
